


The Gold Moon Rebellions

by SanguineEyes



Category: Elder Scrolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17575532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanguineEyes/pseuds/SanguineEyes
Summary: Just ten years after the legendary Dragonborn emerged in Skyrim, the white gold concordant is stretched to the very limits of its wording. All sides struggle to inflict every non wartime offense they can upon each other looking to not be the one to reignite the war. However, the Dominion must look inward as a fierce rebellion is brewing in Elsweyr. Parts of it's own military is becoming aware of just how far the Thalmor are willing to go to achieve order in their controlled provinces.





	1. Bitter

3rd of Frostfall: Just south of Bruma.

The dust floated down with each heavy thud, whispers sounded as the frightened men stood whispering prayers silently to their gods, clutching their pendants tightly as the battering ram smashed against the reinforced door one more time. The two sitting near the entrance flinched as the piercing light lanced through the darkness, holding swords and axes out few were not scared but none didn’t know how this ended. 

It was their choice, a choice they did not want to make, but a choice they made nonetheless. And with a shout the two men rushed forward swinging their weapons. But it didn’t matter. The light from the door went out and the tip of a halberd met the first man. A young once noble Imperial leaping forward as the tip of the halberd passed in a straight line past him, slitting his throat in a merciless advance as the dark form sank past him with alarming speed. 

The second man slashed down with his axe, the old Nord’s eyes widened in surprise as the end of the halberd caught his blade and flicked it up with martial precision. He had less than a second of marveling at the technique before the sharp end spun around and slid between his ribs into his heart.

Blood bubbled out the wound and ran down his fine clothes as he stumbled forward, a smile over his old weathered lips. “S… sovngarde…” Even as he went limp, his smile remained, but the figure in the dark didn’t bother stopping to check on him. The single figure just kept advancing into the musty darkness. The high ceilings and cold stone walls hued from stone that made up the old long dried up mine made a perfect location for these once proud men and women of the empire, now ‘traitors’ and ‘heretics’, hiding deep within unwilling to surrender one simple right they had for millennia.

Three Nords, two Bretons, and five Imperials stood making their peace despite the sounds of one sided battle in the halls as the two who stood just outside the were felled by an enemy they nearly didn’t even get the chance to see. It was no illusion, no magical strike, no stealthy technique, nor potion. The single shadowy being put out each torch as he moved, only his cold steel halberd for both offense and defense.

As one of the Imperials shivered and looked to the passage that lead in, she could hear the blood dripping from slashed throats and punctured hearts, but the slow and methodical footsteps of the advancing menace. She took in a breath and leaped into the hall swinging wildly, the others didn’t even get the chance to shout to her to stop and wait or stick to the plan. To her fright, she struck her face instantly on what felt like a breastplate. A breastplate at face level for her. The blade in her hand was knocked free and an iron like grip seized over her throat, simply lifting her off her feet as the figure stepped in, towering over the others in the old mineshaft.

The closest nord stared as he pushed his torch forward to ward off the darkness and reveal their foe. The first detail the took in as the massive clawed hand squeezed tight and narrow on the Imperial’s throat giving her a whipping motion as if she was a doll in his hands, her neck snapping and her body falling to his feet in a fit of spasms. He was massive, but also he was something else, or rather not something else.

“You’re not an elf…” The Nord holding the torch uttered as the towering Khajiit stared down at them all, his grip relaxed over the heavy halberd, letting it sag and slide down before he dug his claws into the grip and raised it.

“I am aware of this…” His voice was odd, very odd. It clearly carried the thick purr like depth and rasp of a Khajiit, but his words were precise like a poet and he did not use the Khajiit terminology. He completely lacked any accent of any kind.

As what remained stared out at the giant Khajiit, dumbfounded for that split second, his halberd slashed through the torch, knocking it into the floor where his boot snuffed it out completely as he spun and twirled, his eyes picking up every detail in the darkness. The tip of his halberd sliding under chins, punching into hearts, and lopping heads clean from shoulders.

His ears pivoted despite his keep ability to see the Nord who would be last to die falling back and fiddling about behind his dying comrades. It wasn’t until the second to the last man hit the cold ground, a gaping hole where his throat once was, that the Khajiit closed the distance, but recoiled in pain and mild surprise as the air lit up with extremely bright light. Gallons of oil and magnesium powder went up in flames. His pupils had been expanded to take in as much light as possible within the exceedingly dim room letting him be the only one capable of sight, but this robbed him of it and gave the ability back to the nord, but not entirely. Despite throbbing marks on his vision, the Khajiit could still feel Nord steel puncturing the thick flesh on his face.

Almost on instinct, he turned, feeling the blade in his skin, knowing the height of the Nord, the stance he would likely be taking, he remembered how he stood, how he held his weapon, left handed. Working all of this, the Khajiit shot back then lunged forward. He didn’t need vision to notice his blade had found its mark. Dead center in the Nord’s chest.

He pulled the Halberd back to his side and walked with it as if it were a staff. He needed no assistance, but it was comfortable. Retreating back into the dark halls, he sipped on a potion and ran a clawed finger over the new lacerations on his face. Just below the eye, it would require a few small stitches, nothing new. Rubbing his eyes as he continued forward, not even bothering to cast a single glance at those he had slain. But as he neared the entrance, stepping over the first to fall to him, he noticed something at the tip of his halberd. He let out an audible hum as he plucked it off his weapon, the Nord’s blood still caked it and the little trinket had a long carved mark deep into it where he had pulled it off his blade. 

“Talos…” He flipped the pendant over in his hand, it was surprising to see that the old thing had caught his blade, he would have been more surprised if it had redirected his blade, saving the Nord’s life. Despite the oddity he just pocketed it, knowing it might bring up a conversation later. It was after all, the only reason he was here in Cyrodiil.

“Are you quite done cat?” The Khajiit’s eyes drifted down at what he regretted to know as his commanding officer. A petty and pushy Elf known as Tevin.

“Yes…” His reply was careful not to come off as insubordinate, but only through the words, the contempt in his voice was quite clear. “The heretics are dead. You can start your collection.” He walked stoically passed the rest of the treaty enforcers and Justicars. 

Even as he passed, he could plainly hear Tevin mumble. “Betmeri…” He would have shrugged, by technicality, despite how profane and insulting the Elf wanted it to sound, it was the Aldmeri word for his kind, and he learned very very long ago just how well challenging the status quo of the apartheid that was the dominion. The scars to his face and arms had occurred over the last five years, but he received the dozens of long deep scars embedded into his fur on his back long ago when he was first drafted as a child. 

“He still can’t get you killed?” The Khajiit actually flinched, not of fear but surprise. He turned about looking down at the fancy elaborate helm resting on a sword as an elf sat relaxed, tucked into a few rocks with a book in his hand.

“Not for lack of trying…” He nodded and as usual started to salute just as the elf cut him off with a dismissive wave. “It is good to see you admiral Evanwor…”

“And to you Talon…” He smiled at the Khajiit. He knew his real name, but Talon was the honored title he himself had given the Khajiit, a title he was rarely called, but a title he had earned nonetheless. 

“What brings you up this way?” Talon rested his weapon on the stones and joined the admiral on the stones, even laying back in comfort despite his heavy armor.

“You do actually...oh goodness… you got a new trophy, come… let me stitch you up.” The admiral stood up pulling his bag up and drawing out a needle and thread. 

Talon would have objected, but he knew well that his old commanding officer would have just ordered him to sit if he resisted, so he leaned forward and careful elven hands cleaned the wound before masterful weaving of thread closed the cut. “You are quite lucky, this one almost cost you your eye.

“Yes, it was kinda surprising, but nothing I could not handle. Now, I do not mean any disrespect, but what was it you were saying?” The admiral’s stitchwork was masterful, but also extremely fast, just as soon as he cut the excess sutures he was pushing some spiced wine into Talon’s open hand.

“Ah… it's good news I promise.” He raised his glass and Talon chuckled, sipping from the bottle. He didn’t like wine, especially expensive wine. But he did like the Admiral, so he he sipped eagerly. “I finally pulled the right strings.”

Talon raised an eyebrow and the admiral chuckled. “I still remember, seeing you standing there, pulling that ballista bolt out of the chest of that pirate. From that first day, saving my life, I swore to you… remember? I would get you home.”

Talon blinked. “Home?”

Admiral Evanwor nodded happily. “You served me extremely well while I had you in my command, hence why I named you my Talons, and here even when you were taken from me, you had one astounding work. But I swore, and now I deliver. At least for now, until further notice, you can return home. No more sleeping with one eye open, no more fighting battles belonging to anyone but you…”

He raised his glass, and despite his hatred for the wine, Talon too raised and drank deep of the overly sweet intoxicant. 

==================================================

It took a few minutes for the admiral to finish drinking, a few more for him to inform Captain Tevin that he was transferring/giving indefinite leave to Talon, several hours by carriage, and by midnight, he arrived at the imperial city waterfront district on foot. It was an odd feeling flooding through him. Tevin demanded he turn in his armor, but Admiral Evanwor took him to a nearby blacksmith and purchased new chainmail and robes from his own pockets. It was a savory insult to the Elf commander who had tried to get him killed so very many times. But, despite the justice there, Talon felt renewed. He had been so certain for so many years he would be sent on suicide mission after unnecessary suicide mission until he finally failed or Tevin had him killed. But now, he was for all intents and purposes, free.

He didn’t know what he would possibly do with his life now, but he swore to his mother as they carried him away, swore as his father held her close that he would find his way back to their little home. He could barely remember her face and they would certainly not remember his. But he had made the oath, and he would act on it.

His eyes rolled to his left and he took notice of a few Imperials who clearly knew him. Even outside of Dominion colors, it was hard to forget a Cathay Raht. Towering over every other soul, they would remember for long long years the Dominion treaty enforcer who killed dozens of their citizens who simply wanted to worship their god. He didn’t want to have any part of it, but the scars on his back would always remind him of how the dominion would treat him if ever he refused. Thankfully, these vengeful souls would not attack, not only was the Dominion and Empire still technically at peace, and thus attacking him would be a great crime, but he was still a Cathay Raht and attacking someone who stood two feet taller than you was usually a bad idea. He did have a little to worry about as something happened up north and every dominion soldier on Nirn was given instruction to kill anyone and everyone identified as Dragonborn, not only for breaking treaties and killing dominion soldiers but inciting war fervor towards the dominion and their involvement in the rebellion which eventually lead Skyrim an independent nation just a few years previous. A lot had happened in the past ten years, just a few years after he was taken from his little village in Elsweyr there had been the first recorded dragon attack in Tamriel in millennia, then a long string of events and rumors flooding from the north.

One reason it had taken so long for Admiral Evanwor to secure his release was the trouble brewing from skyrim. Things had began to become very difficult for the Aldmeri Dominion, and the Dominion had drastically increased it’s heresy purges in all Imperial controlled lands. The brass kept saying that they just needed to exert control, but Talon knew what it was, by the time the war snapped back into action, the Dominion wanted just as much hate to exist for the empire for letting the treaty enforcers to act unimpeded as there was hate for the actual Dominion. 

It was a lot of hate to muster, and despite how much it would haunt him, Tevin sent him into uncountable homes and strongholds, bursting down doors and killing all those who resisted. The fires of war were already smoking and ready to burst into a mighty blaze, at this point both sides just wanted to sneak in as many sucker punches as they could and simply not be the ones who “broke the treaty”

Looking to the guards at the peer he grumbled and double checked his bag which held his polearm. He could easily defend himself without it, even put it together and strike back with frightening speed, but he was mostly worried that they would check him. Even if they didn’t identify him, they would likely check the bags of any Khajiit. This was likely why the line was going so slow, a few caravans were taking this ship down the Nibben to Leyawiin then travel on foot to Orcrest, then a short trip later and he would be home.

When it was his turn, he stepped up and gave a very firm death glare, easily towering over the guards who quickly looked the other way, deciding not to frisk the giant Khajiit. He moved and settled in, quite surprised to see that the majority of the passengers were Khajiit. Most were with the various caravans, whether the whole caravan was here or just parts of it. This late at night, there was not much official activity, which was likely why the guards were so easily spooked.

With only his bag, his pockets, and his weapon’s sling, he was traveling quite light. Even if his bag was something a normal sized person could barely carry, it was light enough to him, he could curl up on the boat and rest, maybe even sleep. But despite his joyous retirement, fate rarely gave him a break.

“You do not look familiar… This one would remember Khajiit such as you…” He cracked open his eye at the male Khajiit. He didn’t want to answer, but even seconds of silence made the cat press more. “This one guesses you are with one of the caravans? Perhaps you are willing to join for higher pay yes?”

“Not interested…” He tried to use the Khajiit accent, but the cat seemed very taken back, as if his poor performance might as well have given his whole history away.

He hissed softly glaring at Talon and slinking back. Talon only closed his eyes for a few moments before hushed words sounded louder and louder. He was being discussed, and if he wanted any peace he needed to make a statement.

Standing up he stepped three paces forward to one of the caravaneers, a female who looked at him stricken with fear as she recoiled away from her pot of stew as he stepped up. She was young and her face blatantly spelled out the fear. If he hurt her in any way, it was likely every Khajiit present would leap in, but they knew they would lose at least a few of their number taking him on, this aggression was almost enough, he couldn’t appear afraid of them or second guessing his advance.

Extending a single finger he sank his claw partially into one of her bowls and picked it up before dunking it into her pot and taking some of her stew. Before making his way out to the top deck. They would not likely follow him, but there was to be other problems.

As he sipped on the cheesy flavored broth he could feel the nudge of one of the sailors pushing into him. It was very likely that he had just a touch of booze in him and he didn’t get a full look of Talon, this judgement was due to his reaction. “Watch where you’re standing fleaba...a….ah….”

He swallowed and shrank back as Talon rounded on him laying a very heavy hand on the Dunmer’s shoulder, the hand basically swallowed his limb. It was very likely he just had a quick scuffle in mind for petty power reasons, but didn’t quite take a good look at Talon before nudging him.

Talon pulled him in closely, but in an authoritative ‘friendly’ way. “I suggest you go somewhere else… but if you like, I can always introduce you to somewhere up very high… or down very low… perhaps beneath the waves?”

“I would appreciate if you didn’t…” Talon turned to see another Dunmer, much finer dressed but female. He was confident this was the captain, and that confidence increased as the sailor scuttered off in a hurry, as if scared off simply by her presence.

“My apologies, I just wanted to put some fear into him.” He waved calmly but she shook her head.

“I know, I have to smack them around quite often really. You would be surprised. But I take it you’re up here for a reason?” Talon just gave her a calm stare. He didn’t have to scare her or anything, she seemed very reasonable and had not taken offense to his actions. “Not comfortable with your kin down below?”

Years of training kept him from flinching, but he would be lying, mostly to himself if he pretended he had anything in common with the Khajiit below, not that she likely needed him to tell her. “I don’t know if I have any kin left…”

She lifted an eyebrow and smirked a little offering him a bottle. He politely declined and she looked at him with a little suspicion. “Thalmor?”

Again, he didn’t register any reaction. And again, he didn’t lie. “Not any more… going home for the first time in over 15 years…”

“Ah!... Drafted? I’ve met a few Khajiit on the run, mostly from slavery or those death squads the Thalmor have.” She took a swig and stretched out on a crate next to him.

“Thalmor took me a long time ago. And no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get me killed… and trust me, they tried…” He reached up to feel the new wound on his face.

She shook her head. “That’s why they’re called death squads… Not because they kill stuff, Wood elves, Khajiit, and any other sorry soul they take. If their laws prevent them from being able to just cull a population or execute criminals, they forcefully conscript them into them into the military and send them off to the front lines.”

Talon nodded, he guessed that he was not the only one. He had even been to certain jobs where dead Wood elves and Khajiit were piled up and burning outside before he went in to do the job. He had found it odd that they would do these sort of things with the sole and intent purpose of killing non Altmer. He knew from excessive experience they were hate filled supremacists and wanted nothing more than to be the sole race on Nirn, but he also knew they were highly intelligent even if they weren’t smart, it just seemed odd that they would intentionally waste soldiers. He could see them putting Khajiit and Wood elves on the front lines, but not sending them on constant suicide missions. With him, he knew they were all afraid of him and due to a bit of a reputation after he saved his commanding officer in the navy by killing half the pirates who had boarded with nothing more than a dull cast aside ballista bolt. A part of him knew that they had been trying to get him killed from the start, he just figured it was a little more exclusive to him and that he excelled at completing suicide missions consecutively.

“I think you are a little too stoic….” She chuckled giving him a nudge. “You need to brighten up… come on, you said you weren’t Thalmor anymore. That’s a good start for a cat who didn’t even have a choice in the matter.”

He looked at her and let himself smile. It felt good, it helped wash away the pain of his thoughts. He mostly just felt shame for the fact that firstly, the revelation didn’t surprise him, and second, he couldn’t make himself care. The majority of his life had been as a slave as his masters tried their hardest to get him killed. He needed to be happy about what he had, and to be happy with the playful elf. He chuckled and gestured to the bottle which she happily handed to him. Taking a swig, he hated the taste but it was the statement he was after. ‘Yes I’ll play’

“See? No need to be a sourpuss…” She knocked the bottle back as soon as he lifted it to her, downing the rest of the contents. 

“Captain?” He gestured to her just to make sure. She hadn’t said so, but he felt it was a safe guess.

“The one and only… This ship is my nation and I am the empress…” She purred the words leaning in at him. He took notice at her stance, how she leaned forward with her nearly open blouse, it was a little more than just her being playful.

The scenario went through his head and he mentally shrugged. “Is her majesty this fun with all her subjects?” 

She let out a sharp laugh giving him a little swat on the head. “You can’t blame me… You’re unique… I like unique… and like I said… it’s my empire…” She moved from her spot straddling his hips grasping at his thick layered clothing as she peered into his pale eyes. “Well?... you going to be a sourpuss?”

 

================================

 

He pushed his legs off the foot of the bed. Still feeling the rocking ship, his breath was even and calm, he could still hear her heartbeat, feels her sweat against his fur. He had to admit, her writhing ashen colored form was quite a desirable sight. He had a bit of experience, but he was no guru, but he had a natural advantage due to various mental blocks he had to learn just to survive working with the Dominion, and he felt a tad saddened that the majority of his experience had come from the desperate soldiers or to his occasional genuine surprise curious Thalmor soldiers looking for a new experience.

Much like most of those curious soldiers, she had entered into the night ‘knowing’ she was in charge, but left a happy passenger. The natural progression of his personality, he may have been what amounted to a slave, but he did everything his own specific way. He stood up tightening his belt and looking out the large bay windows letting the cool bay air dry her sweat from his body. He heard her shift before she spoke, still he didn’t move from his spot, watching the swelles rise and fall.

“I know… you.. You probably have something you’re going home to… but..” She stood from the bed, her naked form swaying as she came to a stop next to him hooking her arm over his waist. “...You could stay… I wasn’t lying, I do quite like unique…”

His eyes broke off the water and down to her soft red eyes and soft supple gray skin. His hand came down to her, feeling her cheek and trailing up her chin. The pleasures of the flesh was more than just a little enticing, but he had swore to his mother he would return. He did not expect to even find her alive, but he had sworn.

She giggled snuggling into his fur. “If we have any Thalmor, I’ll be happy to pull into deep water and let you throw them off after maybe breaking their arms and legs…”

He let out a chuckle, that actually was tempting. “I have something important to take care of, but if you promise to be a good girl… I’ll come back eventually.”

She came around, pressing her breasts against his fur. “...Tease…”

He leaned in nibbling on the tips of her ear making her flinch, then on her neck making her cringe and whimper, but not pull away. He smirked, he found it odd that in their most private moments, the strong who commanded much would so often seek out a moment to be commanded, to be controlled by one who alone was more powerful. He wondered if ever he would find one who would compel him to do the same.

She pressed into him and he allowed her to get him back onto the bed as she flicked his belt and hovered over him with another round clearly present in her eager eyes.

 

=============================

 

He started down the docks, looking at her smiling from her cabin. He gave a firm wave from behind. He could fight for days, but after a night on the Niben, he saw all the proof he needed that she could keep up. He never wanted to fight again if it could be helped, but he almost wanted to take her up and just go about being her muscle on her little ship. But of course, he had things he needed to do. And one thing he needed to do soon before he lost the chance.

As he passed out of view of the ship, he stepped faster catching up to the intended target. He reached into his bags and stepped past while thrusting his hand out as he passed.

She flinched, almost yelping in fright. But the young Khajiit simply blinked at the wooden bowl, even as he dropped it into her hands. She looked even more confused as she peered at the clinking septims inside.

“Thank you, it was good…” He mumbled as he continued off west. She looked at him with confusion, even as her caravan came to her side asking if the ‘aggressive outsider Khajiit’ had done anything to her.

He continued, feeling just a little better about the boat ride. Granted, it was not hard to think fondly of the boat ride, the night went a little too fast with the young feisty captain writhing under him and keeping up half the bay. As he made tracks down the road, he thought back and remembered how old elves got, the Captain looked young, but it was possible she was anywhere from twice to ten times his age. He chuckled and kept walking. The sun hit its peak and he kept walking, the sun set and he kept walking. The surrounding grass turned to sand and he kept walking.

He saw the occasional caravan, or traveling pair. He simply gave them a nod and kept walking. He stopped at an oasis and refilled his water skins. Slumping against a tree, he closed his eyes until the sun set. Only once, he woke to the soft sound of controlled rhythmic muffled footsteps. His eyes did not even open as he flicked his halberd out and fit the two halves together before slamming the weapon into the dried sandy spot at his feet showing that even though he looked asleep, he was very capable of noticing them and removing them from the world. The few curious people hoping to make a quick septim from a sleeping giant think twice.

When the moons hung high in the sky he came back to the road and did not look back. Time passed as he walked with a few unanswered questions in his head. If his family even existed anymore, they would think him dead, and likely they would not accept him. He had not a single ounce of Khajiit in him other than his physical form. But he had sworn, if they believed him, if they made the exception, he would stay, he would be a part of his family again. But as far as he knew, those were some pretty big ‘if’s.

He was almost surprised when he came up on Orcrest. He stayed only for a few hours. Buying a meal and a night at the local Inn, he washed up. He still smelled like his captain friend. If his mother really was alive, he doubted she would be unable to tell what that smell was. Cheap ale, cheaper perfume, Elven sweat and shame combined into a surprisingly common smell. But he left the Inn at noon and started off southwest.

He saw them quite a ways off, and the smell confirmed it just before he was close enough to see the gold and black robes, golden armor and flying banners. Ten soldiers, two horses pulling a single cart and three robes. The whole group came to a halt as he moved to the side and watched. He had grown so accustomed to every last elf knowing exactly who he was that he was almost surprised when he heard the Thalmor wizard bark out aggressively. 

“Papers!” Talon’s eyes lazily looked over to the wizard, slowly he raised his hand, the envelope tucked between his index and middle finger.

The elf swiped the papers and rifled through them, it was almost like he was looking desperately for a reason to arrest him. “Is there a new law I missed? Making use of a public road without papers is illegal?”

The elf growled and threw the papers back at Talon. “Lot of Terrorists… just need to keep the state power safe.” Talon gave a simple tilt of his head as he caught the papers and slid them back into his bags. “Just remember, if you get any weapons, hand them in until they are registered once you get to your destination.”

Talon nodded wondering for a moment why they didn’t just ask him if he had any weapons, then he noticed how the wizard’s actions were quick and messy. He was frightened, it was very likely that Suthay Raht were not a very common sight, which was an odd thought for the nation. Regardless, the wizard was not arresting him and it was only a minor annoyance.

He stared in annoyance at the wizard who barked orders and started up the convoy once again. But as the carriage started off he caught a pair of eyes peering out from the iron carriage. A chill went from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail. He almost didn’t understand, but it came to him pretty fast. The eyes were so soft, so scared and the way they swayed and fell as the cart moved, as if the owner was off balance, off balance in order to stand that tall. It was likely to be a child within the prison carriage.

The pit of his stomach churned, but he turned back to the road and continued. The cruelty of the Dominion wasn't anything that was a mystery or surprise to him.


	2. Crumbling

It was more than just a little depressing, the village he remembered as bustling and active was almost a ghost town. The small farms and the well were guarded by mercenaries, and seeing how they eyed everyone who walked by Talon could easily guess that they were not hired by the locals.

They stared at him with uncertainty as he passed, most of the biggest and strongest Khajiit didn’t live here anymore. They ‘were needed’ by the dominion. He didn’t want to think about it, the longer he stayed the less he wanted to be here. But that little oath so many years ago, it was what he needed to do, then he would likely go back and find that lovely little captain and work on the Niben for the rest of his life.

He rounded the next corner and the familiarity was almost painful. He could see the houses were in ruin, but they were still the same homes he remembered. Red clay tiles, he remembered the different houses, they would tile the roofs differently so that directions were more effective. He could see the red tiles and he knew it was his home. He remembered bumbling about with friends and his brothers.Closing the distance and placing his hand on the door frame which at some point had lost its door, he just felt sad. There was nothing else to it, he just felt sad.

Ducking into the doorway he poked into the main room. He opened his mouth to call out to see if anyone was still here, but he cringed as he could not even remember his brother’s names. And while it was rather uncommon, he did not know if he ever actually knew his mother’s name, he had his whole life just called her mom, or mamma, mother. He was unsure he could even identify her if he saw her again.

He remembered sweet pastries out of the clay oven, fighting with his older brother over who got the chicken’s tail. Emperor’s nose they used to call it, after all, humans and elves always had such weird long noses, and he remembered seeing a painting of the emperor and thinking his nose looked like the chicken’s tail, and thus the name stuck.

Walking through the room, he rested a hand on the oven, hot but dark and even dusty. The area was technically a desert, but it was just mild enough to get a small amount of crops in every year. He sighed stepping over broken chairs and an upturned table. But the lack of dust on the table and lack of weathering on the cracks of the broken chairs caught his attention.

His hand flinched towards his weapon when he heard it. A pained groan, almost a gurgle. But Talon was far from in need to break out his weapon. He pushed past the doorway into the next room. He remembered this one used to belong to his mother and father. But what he found at first made him angry. It was not a pleasant sight.

A Khajiit, brown short fur, the noise Talon had heard was this very Khajiit retching and gagging. He knew the condition far too well, the shivering fits of extreme moon sugar highs, too high to be normal moon sugar. The Khajiit was on a quick path to a skooma overdose. 

Talon grumbled thinking to throw him out into the street, after all it didn’t look like his family was here, and technically this home was likely to be more his than some drug fiend’s. But then he took notice of something that shook him ever so slightly.

A soft barely visible scar, just a small pair of lines above the Khajiit’s eye where his fur didn’t grow very well. He recognized it because he was fairly certain that 15 years or so ago, he was the one who caused it. Roughhousing with his brother.

He took the time to be thankful that he didn’t throw the Khajiit out in the street. But on the down side, if this really was his brother, he was on the verge of dying and Talon if nothing else wanted to hear what happened. Maybe help the only family he knew he had. He gripped the Khajiit and gave him a firm shake, but he squirmed and retched again. 

Talon searched for his brother’s name, but grit his teeth in anger that he had forgotten it. He was not certain what to do next, but he simply knew he needed to do something. He grabbed at the Khajiit and quickly discovered that he was missing his right hand. Cut perfectly at the wrist, this just raised more questions.

He hauled the smaller cat up and kicked the table upright before laying him out. A few empty bottles and a half full skooma bottle fell from his brother as Talon moved him. The condition the drug had left his brother in disgusted him, but he looked to the smaller cat and noticed the froth at his lips was still wet. This was only a recent event.

His brother still in the fits of his skooma high struggled and nearly thrashed as Talon forced his mouth open and crammed his finger down his throat prompting the Khajiit to purge his stomach. The sickening sweet smell of skooma and blood spilled over the table and onto the dirty floor. The whimpering only grew in strength as Talon swept through the cupboards and found what he was looking for.

He was no alchemist, but he knew a few simple recipes. Just the right roots and a touch of salt, forcing it into his brother’s mouth made the cat vomit again and quickly he fetched water. Again, the cat near violently thrashed as Talon forced large quantities of water and charcoal from the fireplace down his throat. The whole process earned him a few bite marks on his fingers.

Just a few minutes in his older but smaller brother broke into a yelling fit. It was already difficult, he didn’t want strangers coming around thinking he was doing unsavory things. Firmly, he pressed his brother’s jaws shut so he did not bite his tongue or break any bones and teeth, then drove his balled up fist into the clenched jaw knocking him out cold.

Groaning, he hefted his brother from the table and with a little exploring he dropped him into a bed. Before searching the rest of the home. To his annoyance he found another four or five bottles of skooma, but no other Khajiit. Tossing the skooma into the fire Talon moved along looking for somewhere he could eat, and possibly feed his brother once he woke. He didn’t want to spend much time away, but he needed time just like he needed and his brother would eventually need the food he would bring back. 

The only building with lights in the rundown town was what appeared to be an inn of sorts, but Talon’s hopes rose as he noticed two carriages outside meaning most likely at least two caravans inside. Pacing calmly by the carriages his nose picked up plenty of various smells, though to his surprise not all were khajiit. A little bit of diversity would work in his favor as not all would be able to pick him out as not a ‘real’ Khajiit.

Still, it wasn’t too surprising to him that every head turned when he stepped in the door. There was various points of interest. A slightly older curvy Breton woman with an equally curvy Khajiit looked over him almost playfully, the alluring look in their eyes told him that they would likely ask to be paid for something he always got for free. Then, in the center of the tavern, a small gathering of easily identifiable caravans. Many members of the various caravans were clearly not Khajiit, but the majority of those in the large room were plenty furry. His eyes twitched as he entered, he almost missed the Khajiit in the corner, sleek features, notched ears and wrapped knuckles. He had seen warriors and thieves alike, dozens of souls from dozens upon dozens of walks of life. She was complicated, her stance, her body screamed that of a warrior, but much like him, her soul begged to be anything but. As he passed, his eyes spotted her hands which she quickly tucked into her robes. The pads of her hands were not calused from the handles of weapons but from impact, her claws were cracked and healed, her knuckles though wrapped were hardened and bulky. These were the telltale signs of extreme proficiency in martial arts combat.

She glared fiercely at him and he passed her without a second glance, her lone spot at her table, back to the wall and facing the door. It all spoke loudly that she was not to be bothered. He kept walking and came to a slow spot at the bar in front of the breton woman. She gave a smile and stood up straight, fanning herself with a delicate lace folding fan. He could see the jewels on her fingers, her fine clothes, she was more than likely the owner of the inn, and the soft smell of deathbell and the ever so slight heft to her fan told another story. 

She may have a smile on her face, giving a flirty gesture from behind a lace fan. But her fan was very likely to have spring loaded blades clearly coated with a simple poison. She didn’t know who he was, and he was clearly intimidating, she would give the disarming flirt but not be caught dead sitting down near someone as unknown as him.

He frowned, he didn’t remember his childhood home being so aggressive. But a lot changed in 15 years. The mild hesitation in him started to tug on the corners of the Breton’s lips. So he did the most disarming thing he could. He sat at the bar and kept his hands in sight.

The Breton regarded him for a moment then smiled. “Hello there big kitty… what can the Baroness do for you this fine night? We have ale of all kinds, one of the caravaneers promised to play an instrument if you want entertainment, and Lady Softpaws is always here in case you need…’entertainment’.” She grinned and gestured a little down the bar at the curvy Khajiit who gave a little too interested smile. 

He was certain that ‘Lady Softpaws was not a Khajiit name, more than likely it was a nickname to help her blend in with foreigners, which would imply that she too was not exactly ‘from Elswyer’. He grumbled and with a long sigh he calmly gestured behind the counter. “I just need some beef, tomatoes, carrots, cheap wine, barley and mushrooms, Blisterwort if you have it.”

The Breton raised an eyebrow but kept her smile. “This isn’t a grocer… but we do have what you want.” She held out her hand, he figured the gesture was more to just ensure he had money rather than paying upfront. But he figured he might as well make a good impression. Afterall, he didn’t know how long it would be until he left.

He dropped a handful of septims on the bar and she raised her eyebrows even higher. She grinned happily and swept the coins off the table before waving to ‘Lady Softpaws’, who went in the back and came back out shortly with a basket with most of what he ordered. The Breton topped it off with a large bottle of wine. “Now, you come back to Baroness Boom Boom anytime big kitty…” She gave a wink and he picked up the basket.

He was a tad afraid that the reaction was a little too positive. He watched the Baroness blow him a kiss as he walked out. To his dismay he heard foot falls following him out after a few moments. Without turning around he reached to a lone fencepost as he passed and gripped it tight enough to send cracks through the wood before uprooting it and slinging it over his shoulder. Something only large Nords and perhaps Orcs would naturally be capable of doing. He didn’t have to turn around to know that whoever had followed him scampered off, he decided to keep the fence post as its heft was good enough just in case he ran into anyone else.

Finally reaching the old run down house he set his fence post down in the kitchen and picked up a tossed cauldron. A lack of dust lead him to believe that it had only recently been knocked to the ground, so with just a little effort he fit it back over the fire pit just before gathering some of the broken chairs and a fair amount of firewood stacked behind the house. Setting the fire up he opened the basket and started to dice the tomatoes and beef. Before he cut into anything else he tossed the cubed meat into the pot happily listening to the crackling of the fat melting and sizzling as it cooked.

Sprinkling salt into the pot he dumped all the vegetables in and emptied half the wine into it all. The wine itself was very weak, traditional wine, kept ever so slightly alcoholic as to simply preserve the quality of what was basically flavored water. Finally, he dropped the barley into the pot and stirred occasionally. An easy mild beef stew, was well on its way. 

A sickly cough interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see a shape emerge from the dark side of the house. “W...wh..why...why did you save me?” The Khajiit stumbled forward, Talon reached out to try and help him up, but his brother swatted away the assisting hand. “Do not touch me!”

Talon grumbled looking down at him, he didn’t expect this reaction but he was confident there was a reason for it. Sitting up right he looked down at the his brother. “This will be very hard for you to believe…” He paused to observe the disgusted look on his face, clearly his brother didn’t think of him as a ‘real’ Khajiit either based solely on how he spoke. “I haven’t seen you in just over 15 years. I am your brother.”

His face changed, going from anger to something indescribable. “Bassa?... little Bassa?” The name hit him like a hammer. He remembered his mother calling it. Bassa and Saar. He couldn’t quite remember everyone’s names, but it was almost magical hearing his own name, he had forgotten it so very long ago.

“Saar? I have returned. I have missed much clearly… I am sorry.” Talon looked down at him but frowned when Saar simple leaned forward and broke into tears. Talon stood up before kneeling next to him. “Come brother… get back into bed… You can tell me everything when you wake.”

His tears turned to a high pitched cry before his fist impacted the ground. Talon stepped back for a moment, but when his brother repeated the action, quickly pounding the ground in a fit of anger. Seeing the fit, Talon seized the frantic Saar, but caught his claws, the claws barely even drew blood, but it was enough for Talon to know that his brother needed to be put back to bed. He quickly grabbed his brother’s chin, and just like the first time, he closed his jaws and knocked him out clean.

“I am sorry Saar… I am sure you will be better when you wake up.” He undoubtedly still had skooma in his system. He would try again later, after sleep he would likely be well rested and less emotional. Granted he didn’t blame the reaction, from the looks of the town and the state Saar was in reuniting with a family member that he thought was lost a decade and a half later would be quite a shock.

He lifted his brother and dragged him back to the bed, but noticed something he hadn’t before. Saar’s legs were heavily scarred and looked quite mangled. From the drugs and state of the village, he guessed that little Saar had a gambling problem, his legs had been intentionally broken years ago, it explained his missing hand as well. He had hoped for a happier reunion, but this was the ordeal he had. Coming back to the kitchen and stirring the stew, he figured that he would at least help his brother onto his feet before he returned to the Niben bay and looked for his elven friend. He didn’t feel like he had a place here, even though he had found what was likely to be his only living family.

Dipping a bowl into the stew, he sipped calmly setting the rest of it to the side. Saar would wake and need to eat something. In the meantime, Talon closed his eyes as he mouthed the last of his stew off a wooden spoon from his bowl. Throwing another log on the fire, he rested calmly. Years of living with a bunch of elves that wanted nothing more than to see him dead let him learn to sleep with one eye open. He could hear a pin drop a mile away in his sleep, no one would sneak up on him.

 

=========================================================

 

His eyes snapped open. The sun had only just barely risen from the horizon, but it was the shuffle of feet that had forced him into consciousness. He surveyed the area quickly and stood, but all he saw was Saar struggling to get to the table. His long since crippled legs clearly giving him trouble. But he managed to sit and stare at nothing, only shifting his gaze when Talon scooped some cold stew and placed it in front of the Khajiit.

Saar looked at the bowl and slowly took up a spoon. He mouthed a spoonful and swallowed. He licked his lips and shivered. “Bassa… It still feels like a dream.”

Talon sighed and relaxed his neck, rolling his head softly letting his neck pop before he sighed. “It still feels like a dream now…”

“Little Bassa coming back just a little too late. And he cannot even pass as a Khajiit…” Saar sounded downright broken, his will nearly gone. Only a fumes of anger boiling under his words, his life had gone down the drain and now he had someone to yell at.

Talon sighed again and looked up at his brother, taking in the pitiful sight before him. “I was taken, and expected to die. I lived, and now that I return, everything is in ruins and my brother is some crippled petty skooma fiend. Can you at least tell me what happened to mother and father?”

Saar pushed the bowl back and stared at the table. “Saar is not a skooma feind.” Talon raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask the question. He just waited for Saar to further explain. Saar lifted his forearm, shifting his glare at the stump where his right hand once was, he sat and stared for a while before his lips pursed and his shaky voice came back. “ Saar, Father, and Brother Sinder… all lost our hands when we protest, the elves cut our hands and break our legs. They say it was to tame the hate in our hearts. Sinder brother died from infection. Father died when he protested once more.” He chewed his bottom lip, clearly recalling it was a little too painful.

“And mother?” He wanted to give Saar time to calm down, but it would be just cruel to drag him through it all twice.

He turned to look at Talon with clear anger in his eyes. “Mother took to skooma. Mother lost father, Sinder, and Saar was bedridden. Only Nari able to help…”

Talon tilted his head leaning in just a little. “Nari?”

“Yes, Nari. Nari is sister. Born seven years after you leave Bassa. But…” He trembled biting his lip until a trickle of blood flowed over his chin. “You were too late! Bassa, too late! The Thalmor came for little Nari, Mother wouldn’t let them take another. They killed her. Execute her as terrorist. All for the safety of the state. You were late by a single day. I buried Mother, then I take all her skooma. Saar drink it all. Our family is gone, why didn’t you just let Saar die?” The tears wet the fur below his eyes as his lone hand dug its claws into the table.

Talon had dealt with much in his life, he had to become distant and cold. Detached lest the orders he had to follow burned a hole in his conscious. He had to delve into escapism, forgetting everything he had gone through and just follow his orders. He had been sent in to kill whole families, burn homes to the ground for the Thalmor, but now that he was free he could afford to think, afford to not be detached. But the more he listened the more he wanted to escape and become detached. Part of him deep inside wanted to run back to the Niben, find the Dunmer captain, indulge in sex and fight, helping a new family on the Niben until he was old and gray. He wanted to leave this nightmare behind, he had come back, he had fulfilled his oath, he wanted nothing more to do with this painful past. And looking at Saar, he could tell that the anger fell on him. But a painful rage boiled up inside him. Something he was overlooking.

He sighed painfully as he stood up. He had been a single day late, had he not indulged in sex, lingering with the captain, had he moved faster on his path, he would have been able to do something, anything. His fists clenched tightly as his memory played a shaky scared set of eyes peering out from the prison carriage. The eyes of a child. The timing couldn’t be coincidence. He had passed his sister on the way into town. He looked out the ruin of the northernmost wall of the house at a tall clean well constructed building at the highest point in the town. He owed his mother more than just his presence. 

He turned to Saar. “I’m going out, don’t kill yourself.” He stepped past the smaller Khajiit who didn’t even flinch, just sat there as Talon left. He knew all the stupid petty command structure and buzzwords to spew out, he spent most of his life with the Thalmor, he knew exactly how they worked, and if nothing else, he would get his sister back. He didn’t know what then, perhaps they would go back to the Niben together, he could raise the little Nari and he could put Saar in the crows nest of the captain’s ship. He shook his head and grumbled, he didn’t know what he would do, he just knew he would do it.

He stood in the street looking up at the tallest building in the town. He could already see the gold armor, and gold skin standing out front. He shifted his broken down halberd in its little case trying to ensure it wouldn’t be identified in its leather case immediately. He still had his papers, not just travel papers, but Justicar and treaty enforcer papers, he had no authority back in the Thalmor, and he still had none, but at the very least he could legally be a pain in the ass and toy with the bureaucracy of the Dominion and he knew they would far rather give him information on his sister than to spend days, weeks, and even months sending couriers off to confirm his demands, only to be told in more polite terms to screw off and stop wasting time and resources.

“Well… let's rustle some stuck up peacock feathers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can hear your opinions, or even guesses as to what occurs next.


	3. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Thalmor do not play fair, neither should anyone dealing with them.

He had never seen a more livid expression. His relaxed demeanor appeared to add exponentially to the offense of addressing the Elf without immediately leaving when yelled at.

“I have business with the officer in charge…” Talon levied his papers before him like a badge. The elf all but frothed at the mouth as he tore the papers from Talon’s grip and poured over them. He had never seen such aggression. He wondered if this was a unique level of supremacy that he never really saw in Cyrodiil. Perhaps here in Eslweyr they were less busy and as such focused more on their culture problems than official military duties.

The Elf threw the papers back at him, it was something he was quite used to, he had to reach for it but he managed to catch his papers before folding them carefully and put it back in his pocket. “I don’t care Betmeri filth! We are on strict orders to keep all your kind out!”

Talon raised an eyebrow and reached his hand out as if he expected to be handed something. “Let’s see those orders then…” The Elf looked at him confused. “If those are the orders for this site then you must provide the written copy of the orders to any Dominion members present who have not been briefed orally by the commanding officer, Article 457 paragraph 8 of Dominion watch revisions.”

The way he grit his teeth Talon was certain he was about to shatter his molars. “That is for dominion soldiers ONLY!!”

“Of which I technically am. My papers prove it, I’m simply on extended leave. So unless you can call my superiors here within 12 hours then regulations demand that you either be taken into custody for insubordination and violation of lawful orders or you have to grant my request.” He struggled not to smile at the Elf’s outrage. For the excessive amount of racial hate that they spewed at him, literally assigning him his every duty for the sole sake of getting him killed. And as if not dying wasn’t enough to make them hate him even more, he had suffered through their mistreatment his whole life. So he lived for moments where he could push their buttons like this.

“Stay here!” The Elf growled and entered the building, Talon chuckled hearing muffled talk before what sounded like groveling and angry screaming. 

He breathed deep, he had to prepare for the possibility that they would just try and kill him. It only happened once before, thankfully all he had to do was break enough arms and noses. A good thrashing hurt their pride and put fear into them, and a self proclaimed master swordsman high Elf was not likely to tell anyone about how an unarmed Khajiit casually tore him a new rectum.

It wasn’t long before the Elf returned and Talon slipped back into his uninterested mask. “The lord commander will see you Betmeri…”

Talon raised an eyebrow, it really was something new having that word spat in his face instead of mumbled behind his back. As offensive as it was, it was a good sign. They did not fear him enough to do something stupid. It was the Dominion’s greatest weakness, their superiority made them extremely narrow minded, they would fail to prepare properly simply because they had absolute faith in their own superiority. They thought so low of others for their ideologies, their faith, their race that they fully believed that the lesser beings could not possibly stand up to them on any level. This caused chaos in the upper ranks as it created a schism between the generals who learned from their mistakes and humbled themselves at least a little and those who got their position due to their politics. 

He shrugged off his interfering thoughts and strode forward. He entered, keeping an eye on the Elf as he progressed, but they didn’t have to travel far. Just on the third floor, ducking to enter, he found himself in a large pillow strewn room with a single elevated seat and low tables filled with delicacies clearly imported from the Summerset Isles. On the single slightly raised chair, one fairly young looking elf sat, her clothes were exceptionally revealing, but laying eyes on him, she pulled and tucked her cloak to hide her slightly more than Dibella inspired clothing choice. But whether intentional or not, the cloak which quickly concealed her revealed cleavage gave off a glimmer that Talon recognized instantly. Enchantments, he regarded her and took notice of her lack of scars and calluses. She was very likely a powerful mage, and more than likely at least at some level of noble birth.

“What do you want cat?” Her voice was extremely toned and fine, it was even clearer now that she was most likely someone important daughter, given an overly comfortable and safe location to control. But that didn’t mean she was defenseless, it was entirely possible that her enchanted cloak was more protective than heavy plate armor. And her magic could just as well be able to turn most foes to ash before they took a second step.

Talon suppressed his sigh and dug into his experiences before plucking up a good story. He gave an illustrious bow to feed her ego and spoke as regally as he could. “I have only just recently arrived, I am officially on extended leave, but I was to check in with some agents for a few small missions in the area. However, very unfortunately it appears as though they were a little too good at remaining under cover. One appears to have been killed and another, despite her age who still has some very valuable information which was to never be written down or revealed to any under threat of death or torture was taken into custody. It was all a rather embarrassing mixup and there will be a LOT of paperwork and unsavory demotions if I don’t at least retrieve the information. I need access to some files and arrest records.”

She looked at him with some level of interest and he could feel her coming around, he just needed to push one little touch more onto it. “The mission is basically scrapped now, if she is released no one will believe that she was released in any other way than cooperation, but regardless she is needed desperately for operations elsewhere. My command will already be furious that our agents were stupid enough to be caught up and killed. But that doesn’t change the orders.”

She looked at him and a smile came across her face. Something changed in her. “My guards tell me that Admiral Evanwor’s signature is on your paperwork.” She paused and her vision drifted off to the side in thought, but her eyes snapped back forward and she relaxed a bit, even letting her cloak slide off as she slid into a condescending tone she wasn’t clever enough to conceal. “Well of course, but that will take some time. And we are quite short staffed at the moment, dealing with savage locals peddling arms, spies, and skooma dealers. We just don’t have the numbers to dedicate to your little project AND our original duties.”

Again, he had to suppress his sigh. The Altmer always thought that they spoke too eloquently to be understood and so they always had a very round about way of explaining what they wanted. But to cut to the chase he stood tall and spoke. “Well, if there is something specific I can handle, I’ll be all too eager to assist if it means any progress towards the Dominion’s goals.”

She smiled almost as if she thought she had deceived him or won some sort of game. “Oh, how kind! Yes, we have been trying to track down a Bosmer terrorist. He is wanted for dozens of crimes, but every time we send someone down there, the slightest tinge of superior golden skin and he just vanishes. His name is Thaer, he is trying to pass himself off as a bard, but be careful, he is very dangerous. Just get rid of him quickly and come back with proof. It shouldn’t be hard for someone who is capable of getting admiral Evanwor’s personal signature.”

Talon nodded. “Yes, of course. I will return shortly.” He gave another overly illustrious bow and made his way out.

Finally stepping free of the building he felt like he needed to wash his mouth out and take a shower. But he was certain the feeling was mutual. At least he only hated them for their fanatical ideology and their actions. And the duty they had given him was relatively easy. If the Wood Elf was passing himself off as a bard then he would hang out where a bard would hang out. Minutes passed and he found himself back at the inn ran by the Bretton named ‘the Baroness’ It took him a moment before he noticed the sign read ‘The Draft Horse’.

In the daylight hours the inn looked rather run down with some very new repairs. Even the name on the sign was freshly painted over something extremely faded. The moment he entered he spotted the Khajiit from before. “Oh.. Lady Softpaws.”

She flinched and looked his way. Instantly her face lit up with a smile and she leaned over the counter a bit too far with her low cut tavern clothes. “Yesss?” She smiled at him sweetly. He honestly found it charming, but he had something he needed to do.

Resting his hands on the bar he pretended to be at least a little interested in what she was showing off, at least the attention would leave her flattered enough to give him a more favorable answer. “I am looking for a bard named Thaer. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

She smirked tilting her head to and fro playfully. “Lady Softpaws might know, but she grows weary in her loneliness…” She gave a silly pouting face and he gave her a warm smile. 

Reaching into his pocket his hand came back out tracing down her chin and depositing a few septims into her low cut shirt. He could even hear the gold coins clinking against more within her bosom. “I don’t know about that… a beautiful thing like you couldn’t possibly be lonely…”

She practically purred at his words and wiggled her blouse just a little more loose. “Oh… you are quite kind. He’s the frustrated one in the corner with the long hair and the kilt.”

“Kilt?” Talon turned about to see exactly what Lady Softpaws had described. A short Wood elf frustratedly fiddled with a very severely broken Lute. Approaching he could clearly identify scratches and bruises on the Elf’s forearms. 

“Bloody golden twat…” His words appeared to be directed not towards his broken lute which he worked desperately to at the very least put back into an actual lute like shape. Talon couldn’t help but notice the way it was broken implied it had been broken over a head, and a quick glance at the top of the Elf’s head showed a risen lump, but the injury was not new. It looked at least a day or two old, as did the scratches and bruises.

“Thaer?” He spoke the word calmly and watched the Elf turn around angrily.

“What!?” He paused and his gaze drifted upwards until he was practically staring straight up. “Oh Gods… I don’t owe you money do I?”

Talon shook his head. “No, I just need this..” He took up a broken half of the lute. “Trust me, it’s a lost cause. Oh, and I need a bit of your blood.”

“For what?” He seemed quite taken back and slightly offended.

“There is a certain Dominion ruler up the street who thinks you are a dangerous terrorist and wants you dead.” Thaer’s eyes instantly opened quite wide and he stepped back. “Calm down, I’m pretty sure her reasoning is as fabricated as the proof of her supremacy. I just need you to bleed on this and lay low for at least a few days, possibly just leave.”

“That Golden bitch has me beaten and thrown out of the damned third story after insulting my music and now she sends someone to kill me?... And they wonder why the majority of the world hates them?” He growled angrily looking up at her then looking back at Lady Softpaws. “May I kindly use Milady’s escape tunnel?”

He looked to her and she nodded with a smile. That was all he needed. Tearing a strip off his shirt, he drew a dagger and drew it across his palm. A little bit of smearing onto the broken pieces of the lute and he bandaged the shallow cut with his torn shirt piece. Then he handed the piece to Talon and picked up his bag.

Talon smiled and took up the broken lute, but he turned back when he heard the Bosmer speak. 

“H...hey… Thanks.” He smiled and waved fitting more bags over his shoulder and grabbing a bow from behind the counter as Lady Softpaws helped him down into what looked to be a secret tunnel behind the bar.

Talon sighed happily. It was the little victories that always felt good, and he didn’t always get to have those victories. But when he did, they were always quite sweet. And it was pretty obvious that anyone that even mildly offended the Thalmor were labeled ‘problematic’ ‘Terrorists’ and ‘rebels’ when more than likely they were just caught up in the hate and politics of the Thalmor which they wanted nothing to do with. If he had to guess, Thaer was probably ordered to play for the local Lord and because he was neither Altmer nor their definition of perfect, he was beaten and thrown out, quite literally. And if he had resisted or fought back, he would most certainly be killed instead of just beaten.

He knew there wasn’t going to be any Thalmor agents anywhere around the area, but he needed to at least be seen by some sympathizers or possible eyes of the Thalmor. As such, he tied up a vaguely Bosmer shaped bundle of refuse in a sack, secured it to some rocks and threw it into a dead well.

With the ‘deed’ done, he made his way back to the Thalmor building. It was a still annoying to him to see it in such flawless condition while the rest of the town was in absolute squalor. But he put it aside just like his utter contempt for the entirety of their kind.

He arrived and to his relative surprise they let him in without a word. Something about it felt iffy, but he didn’t have any other options at the moment. It was a short trip up the stairs and he was in front of the Elf again. She smiled and looked him over. He drew the bloodied half of lute from his bags and dropped it on the floor in front of her. The moment it came to a clattering stop on the ground she grinned. Her mouth opened and somehow the words didn’t surprise him.

“You have committed an unsanctioned killing in my jurisdiction Betmeri.”

He sighed loudly as her guards moved in closer, he hadn’t experienced this one yet, though he had expected it’s use many times. Just not in this situation. “Do you really want to play this game?” He counted six guards, and while she was obviously not preparing for battle, she could very easily stand up and join when she realized exactly what she was getting into, but he didn’t want to assume his victory prematurely, or even if he was going to do well in the ensuing battle.

“No games you pathetic flea bag. You think you can just come in here and throw orders around like you own the place. Bleh… why am I even talking at you, honestly your biggest accomplishment is amazing me that you even have the sentience required to speak.” She spat as if even talking to him left a disgusting taste in her mouth. “Enough… just kill him. Maybe I can have his head mounted on the wa..”

She didn’t finish her words before he grasped his broken down Halberd. The case he hid it in was simple leather and thin wood, the case offered no resistance when he gripped through it and swung it in a full circle. The case shredded to nothing as the covered blade punched through and severed the throats of four of the guards. The halberd broke down into two pierces. The bladed end and the butt of the weapon. Both equally sized, and in their broken down state acted like an odd axe with a spear tip and an impromptu bludgeon. 

The remaining two guards instantly rushed forward, only half realizing how inconceivably dead their companions were, and they had not even hit the ground yet. His left hand swung down and caved in the head of the guard on his right straight through his helmet. With a quick and low spin, the beard of his halberd sank into the last guard’s wrist, lodging into the many bones just below the skin. His scream became even louder as Talon wrenched him about, locking his arm into place and using him as a shield for what immediately silenced his screaming. 

A torrent of magical lighting flooded into the guard’s armor. So intense that it even managed to burn the tips of Talon’s fingers. He was right on his guess of the Elven woman. While she was certainly not dressed for combat, she had simply stood up and blasted magical lightning at him.

The guard already melting into a puddle, he decided to close the distance near instantly. And just as fast the blade of his halberd passed under her chin. But still wary of the magical backlash of her death throes he swiped over both her arms and thrusted the end into her belly. It was here that he ran into a very serious problem.

The blows knocked her back and the quick succession sent her tumbling to the ground. But the blade of his halberd did nothing but leave reddened marks on her golden skin.

He blinked and looked her over again. He always kept his halberd sharp enough to part a falling piece of paper solely upon its own weight. But it left her exposed skin only mildly agitated. Then he remembered. “Ah… the cloak..” He gripped the cape like extension of her clothing crafted especially for her. But her lightning filled open hand swatted at him. But her motion implied great pain. 

As he dodged gently to the side, a smile crept over his face and he drove the pommel of the halberd into her face. She rocked back with a cry and he came to a solid conclusion. “What use is an enchantment that only keeps you from being cut?” A hefty swing or two later and she was gasping for air at his feet, heavy bruises and welts forming on her face and body. Clearly, the enchanted cloak had done a lot to reduce the damage. If he had to guess, the cloak gave her an advanced version of the standard armor flesh spells, a version specifically designed to keep her from being cut.

Seizing her hair he hauled her upright and didn’t bother listening to her screaming voice drowning out creation itself with curses and angry yelping. Ignoring her demands and screams he pulled the cloak from her and dropped her to the ground. She was so much smaller than him he would look downright silly wearing it, but it was far far too valuable to just leave behind, and if he did leave her alive he didn’t want her getting her hands back on it. So with a little effort he tucked it into his clothes as if it was a simple sleeve to his vest. It almost looked fashionable.

“Ok… Now you really aren’t going to be used to this, but I’m going to ask some questions, and you’re going to answer them.” He looked into her eyes, and she spat at him in absolute livid rage. “Just a little earlier in the week, a Khajiit woman was killed, and her daughter was taken… Where are they?”

She screamed in rage and thrashed about. “UNHAND ME YOU FOUL VILE ANIMAL!”

He leaned in with a soft sigh, his hand forcefully clamped over her mouth as he placed the bladed end of his halberd into a brazeer, lit and burning incense within her little room. As she screamed into his massive palm, no doubt shouting orders that he ‘the lesser being’ absolutely ‘had to obey’ he flexed his fingertips and her eyes shot wide feeling his claws dig into her face. Her livid screams turned to panicked muffled whimpers. He relaxed his fingertips and drew back his hand grasping her wrist while placing his foot on her chest. “Where is the Khajiit child?”

“You BEAST!... You are going to die! I will watch, I will make the whole village watch as you are drawn and quartered I will..”

He promptly picked up the blade from the fire and punched it through the tip of her index finger firmly splitting her distal phalanges in half. The heated blade seared the wound almost instantly keeping it from bleeding, despite having split her fingernail in half. “You have ten fingers… Ten toes, and a whole lot of skin I can removed just a little at a time…”

He leveled the blade and carved off both halves of her fingernail like he was whittling away a piece of wood. Her screams echoed through the whole town and he hoped that this small building contained all the forces they had in the area. But as no one came running, he continued. He had seen the elves perform far less invasive and damaging interrogations. He as certain that he could at the very least, horrify some answers out of this one.

Plunging the blade back into the fire and resting the metal butt of his polearm in as well he looked into her eyes, very calmly tracing his fingers over each digit, over every joint where he would break the bone in half and cauterize before trimming, cauterizing and beginning anew. He would then begin branding her and then skinning her. But he was certain she would break before then. He wasn’t exactly going to be quick with it.

“So…” He looked into her eyes and drew the blade from the fire one more time. “Where is she?”

=======================

 

By the time he came out, dragging her unconscious body by the hair, almost every single Khajiit in town had gathered, he noticed a great deal of missing hands and limping Khajiit. He looked her over squirming in his grasp as the village looked on. His interrogation had revealed much, and he only got through a single finger and just started on the second. Granted, the design on the pommel of his halberd was now burned into her face, a sort of ‘are you sure that’s all’ line of questioning. But he had learned much. Most of the forces here had been ordered by some other ranking official to take the child to a fort just a little ways away. He had also come to know that she was called Kalialian, or Kaleelian, he couldn’t quite tell with all her screaming. Most of the information was petty useless things she cared quite a bit about but didn’t help him. But now came a very important part of his plan. A part he was unsure of.

He threw her at their feet without remorse. “This is the very woman who takes your hands, orders your deaths, and speaks of you as her cattle. No matter what fate befalls her, it will be blamed solely on me. Take what revenge you desire, but I ask for you to assist in just one thing. My sister, a child is being held at a fort just to the south of the village. I am sure you know of it, many of your family members are likely to be held there as well. I am going to attack it, with or without your help. But I could certainly get your help.”

A sharp noise of steel into flesh caught his attention and he looked back from the crowd to Kalialian as she drew her last breath under the blade of Thaer. His dagger firmly under her left breast. “I’ll help you. I don’t care what the job is. I’m helping.” His eyes were unflinching and very slowly Khajiit from the crowd stepped forward.

“Jaziik will join.”

“Maiz is with you stranger…”

To his extreme surprise one by one, over half the village stepped in. He even saw some familiar faces. Lady Soft paws was there, though she didn’t volunteer, she really looked like she wanted to, and the Baroness at her side looked over the crowd in a fair bit of confusion before a very wide grin spread over her face. “Ahem… All who join his raid, I will give free rations to for a week.” 

Nearly the whole other half of the village stepped forward and agreed. Most were already picking up farming equipment or going into the Thalmor building to fetch weapons from dead guards, almost anything they could heft as weapons. It was a bit much to see, but he couldn’t blame them. They had been so horribly mistreated by agents and allies whom their government had allowed to govern them. A part of him wondered what the Thalmor would do in return if he went through with it, and even what Elsweyr’s government, even the Mane would do as well, after all it was with the blessings of the Mane and the governments of Anequina and Pellintine that the Thalmor’s agents and military governed in these lands. Maybe it was uniquely bad here in this little town, but he had seen many Khajiit and even Bosmer ‘agents’ in the field. The Justicars insisted that the agents are not armed or armored to keep them hidden, but their severely malnourished bodies and his own experience said otherwise. It may have been uniquely bad in this village, but that didn’t change the fact that the future the Dominion desired was one where his people were slaves or no longer existed.

He looked to the south screwing the two pieces of his halberd into one and bringing the pommel crashing down onto the streets. “Very well, let us take back our kin.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed chapter 1.  
> As I am new to this site and this is my first story here, I'll be fumbling about a bit until I get it all figured out. I apologize and ask for your patience.


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